


A Sea to Drown in

by schatzchen



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Homophobia, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 19:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17668346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schatzchen/pseuds/schatzchen
Summary: When Alex returns from war, his skin is no longer soft. You come to note that the childlike smoothness he used to have is gone and has instead been replaced by a harshness which transcends into his eyes. He looks at you and it is no longer loving, but full of fear. You tell yourself that you can see past the terror in him, but you know that you can not. The truth is that it scares you too.In which Alex comes home from war a different man.





	A Sea to Drown in

**Author's Note:**

> I know this fandom is dead but writing this was all for me. To anybody who might read it, thank you!

When Alex returns from war, his skin is no longer soft. There are pained cries late at night, to which you awake with a jolt, hold him in place and assure him that it is all okay. While touching him, stroking his cheeks, you come to note that the childlike smoothness he used to have is gone and has instead been replaced by a harshness which transcends into his eyes. He looks at you and it is no longer loving, but full of fear. He is so vulnerable in these moments and you tell yourself that you can see past the terror in him, but you know that you can not. The truth it that it scares you too. 

When you met, before the war and all the horrors, he was smooth in his own ways. Two sweet teenagers, sitting by the river and enjoying a smoke in a late summer haze, not a care in the world other than what was right in front of you. It would all change in a few years, but you had no idea, and neither did he. At that moment, he felt complete. Planning and fantasizing about the future was his favourite pastime, and there was something so innocent about the way he spoke of your future together. There was always a smile on his face. Either cocky, confident and utterly overpowering, or pure and soft.

You miss that softness when you hold him close at night after he wakes up from one of his nightmares. His cries echo in your small bedroom and paint the walls black, taint them with smoke. In all the horror you seek so deep within him to find that same innocent boy you had fallen in love with, but you can’t find him.

Alex does not speak much of what happened. When your parents come over to visit they speak of his heroism, how proud they are of their countrymen and the boys who fought bravely for their country. What your parents can not see is the shame that peeks out through Alex’s eyelashes. You are always the one to catch it. When they speak of his heroism, he only hears of his downfall. It is so obvious, you think to yourself, yet they do not seem to see it. All Alex thinks about is that they did not continue fighting. The shame, the guilt and the fear all work together to create the new harshness in him. Oh, how lucky he was to get out of Dunkirk. How lucky he was to not be deployed once more. To Alex, it is not something to be proud of but something to hate.

Yet again, you wake up to find Alex sitting by the window, his leg anxiously bouncing up and down and a cigarette in his hand. There is something on his mind and it has nothing to do with bombs dropping or torpedoes hitting a ship. There are no tears, no words, but you walk up to him and put your arms around him from behind. He no longer leans into your touch the way he used to, but merely turns his head to look at you. So many words flood to your brain, so many unsaid sentences and so many unsent letters. It almost seemed as if he had not thought about you during the war. Back then you had discarded it, but now it is painfully obvious to you. 

Before you can even begin to speak, he pulls you into an embrace. It is shaky and unsure, but you crave this intimacy that he has not given you for what feels like forever. There is something so wrong about all of this, but you can not for the life of you put your finger on it. There are not even any tears to cry for it, and you seek in his eyes for something. Maybe a clue, maybe something else. He looks back at you with that cold harshness before taking a final puff of his cigarette and putting it out. The silence of the room is deafening, but it is a nice exchange for the usual cries, the incessant night terrors Alex has gotten since coming back. Thus, you welcome it. He cups your face, seemingly looking into your eyes the same way you are looking into his. Searching and not finding. Out of old habits, he leans forward and places a kiss on your lips, gently and patiently, and you respond to it, more eager than planned. If you can not find any answers within his eyes, there must surely be something else you can do to coax them out of him.

He lies you down on the bed, placing short kisses on your neck, over your collarbones, down to your breasts. His hands fit around them so perfectly, reminiscent of something you used to be. There have not been any words said, not since you were awoken by the cold breeze from the window, but it feels like longer. Alex no longer speaks, but shows. Your eyes shut close as his hands travel from your breasts and down to your hips, where he carefully removes you underwear, nothing like he used to. It used to be rough, desperate, filled with smiles and cheeky teasing. While imagining those times, he slides into you, eyes closed and a strange expression of his face. It is tired and slow, but you love having him so close, so you do not bother thinking too hard about it, instead enjoying the feeling of him inside you, of his breath on your neck and his hands on your hips. 

Afterwards, he lays next to you, eyes still shut. You want so badly to ask. Every time you have tried has ended in an argument, but at this moment you think it might end up differently. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. He sighs, putting his arms over his face.

“Go back to sleep,” he mutters. You nod, knowing that there is no way you will get anything else out of him tonight. Therefore, you turn to your side, looking at him for a moment before closing your eyes, thoughts still racing. If not even sex is good enough motivation to get him to open up to you anymore, something is deeply disturbing about this situation. While telling yourself that it is the war, and the war is now over, you realise that it must be something more. Sleep is the furthest thing from your mind, and you have to open your eyes again. They simply refuse to stay closed. Alex does not think you can see him as he stares into the ceiling, tears slowly sliding down his cheeks, eyes wide open and searching. 

It is painful, but you have to get over it. In search for normalcy, you work your day job as a secretary for a small sales firm, but Alex quickly becomes displeased with it. It is not fitting for an engaged woman to be working when the war is over. Alex himself got a job with the local mechanic. You knew that he always wanted to be more than that, but the same way that the childlike smoothness of his skin had gone, his motivation has vanished. He seems to settle for anything to make time pass. 

Slowly but surely, it seems that Alex is returning to his old self. It starts with kisses in the morning and ends with inviting your parents over for the weekend. Your apartment is not big but it does have a spare bedroom, so it is comfortable. Alex does not seem to mind it one bit, kissing your mother’s hand and shaking your father’s before they get into a lively, friendly discussion about his new job. Your father worked as a mechanic for a while as well, and had put in a good word for Alex as soon as he was discharged. While cooking dinner for the four of you, your mother briefly mentions the wedding. The engagement is not exactly recent, and it is about time you make it official. It would also be quite lovely to have a baby around within the near future.

Only a little while ago, bringing that up with Alex would have been an impossible task. Now, as you look over at Alex deep in discussion with your father, a smile on his face and some of that softness returning back to his skin, you think it might not be impossible. Alex catches your eye and sends you a little smile before looking back to your father. 

When the weekend is over and you are left alone with Alex, you finally bring it up. It is silent for a while, and you worry that you might have crossed a line, but you notice that he is not looking at you with fear anymore. A smile is spreading across his face, starting with his eyes, then his cheeks and then his mouth. You laugh and ask what he is smiling about.

“You are a very, very beautiful woman,” he says and pulls you close. He whispers your name tenderly, holding onto you the way he used to when you both were younger, and you become angry. Angry with the war and angry with the officers, angry with Churchill for stealing your beautiful, innocent Alex away. When you try to grasp onto him, he pulls away. “It’s been a while since I proposed. I reckon we need a redo.”

Alex gets down on his knees the same way he had six years ago. He looks so much like he used to, a rough edge to him, cheeky and cocky, but he is mature now. Your Alex has been through too much, and you want to save him, be on his level, be able to see into him. It is almost as if you fall to your knees, desperate to be on the same wavelength as him, and you put your arms around him. His arms wrap around you too, and you feel his laugh on your cheek as he pulls you down, towards him, towards the paradise in his eyes.

It does not take long for a wedding to take place. The morning is filled with happiness as you are surrounded by your closest friends all dressing you up, making you into your best self and assuring you that Alex is the luckiest man on earth. When you look in the mirror, you believe them. 

When you see Alex at the end of the altar, you believe you are the luckiest woman. Looking taller than ever before, hair put into order for once and a tailored suit, paid for by your father, he stands there, hands entwined before him. There is no smile of his face, but you are so caught up in your thoughts and the excitement to care. The only time he smiles is after both of you have said I do. When he pulls away from the kiss, the smile is still there, but fading quickly. It is obvious that he is bothered by something.

He sits in silence for most of the reception and you catch him sneaking glances out over the guests, as if he is looking for somebody in particular. A look here or there is all you get, and you desperately reach out your hand to his under the table. He takes it, throws a smile at you before going back to being distant, looking for whomever he is looking for. You notice that his leg is shaking, and the comfort of knowing that you two now are bound before God is not as much of a comfort anymore.

It is night and the guests have gone. Alex is for some reason desperate to find the RSVPs, and you tell him that they are all back at the apartment. To that he simply nods, distracted as ever, and you wonder just who he is so concerned about that has not appeared.

When you get back to the apartment, you expect him to take you straight to bed, consummate the marriage, but he goes straight to the RSVP letters, going through them one by one. It seems as if he is growing frustrated, unable to find the one he is looking for. When he lets out a grunt in frustration, you decide that it is enough, and grab his hands. His eyes find yours and you are brought back into that old world of chaos and uncertainty. A war-torn Alex and you sitting by his side, unable to help in any way. Something seems to return to him, like a grip on reality. You were always good at grounding him but since he came back, it seemed that he was too far gone. The relief of now finding him back in your arms washes over you as he pulls you towards himself.

The sex is just like it was before and there is no trace of the new Alex. Only afterwards do you know that something is very wrong. He refuses to meet your gaze and opts to light a cigarette by the window and watch the cars on the street below. You feel that you might explode, but you contain it, knowing that it will do more harm than good. Still, there is something within you urging you to go to him, yell at him, even nag until he says something. There is simply no way you can deal with this kind of distance.

“What’s wrong?” you say, reminding you of a conversation from so long ago. Alex shakes his head at the question, putting a hand to his forehead. In all the frustration, you stand up and walk over to the window. While not looking at you he puts a hand on your waist and pulls you down on his lap. You try to study his expression, read what he is feeling, but it is futile. “Please talk to me.”

Alex sighs. “This bloke from Dunkirk,” he begins. “Haven’t seen him since.”

“Were you good friends?” you ask, but the question feels dumb as soon as you have said it. The question almost seems to offend him, as he raises an eyebrow and avoids answering by taking another puff. “I’m sorry, I know that’s not really…” You trail off and wonder if Alex will even say anything back, or if you will be forced to have even more questions unanswered.

“Just thought he’d show up is all,” Alex says and puts out the cigarette. He takes your hands and guides you back to bed, where he spoons you, holds you close, and it almost feels normal again.

“Why don’t you write him?” you say quietly, afraid of what answer you might get. It is almost a relief when he does not give you an answer at all.

The next monday morning feels like being back in your teenage years. It is filled with laughter, happy hugs and Alex looking so handsome you think you might just make Alex stay home from work so that you may look at him all day. His eyes tell you that he feels the same as he pulls you into his arms, tilting your chin up with one hand and the other on the back of your waist. It is beautiful and you are reminded of how young you are, but also how much of the youthfulness Alex used to have has been taken by the war. He looks five years older than he is at this point. There is a deep sea in his eyes but it is not one that you want to swim in, but one you could envision drowning in. You lean on his shoulder, feeling his musky scent, clinging onto him before you part ways and he goes to work.

After the wedding, things change a little bit. The two of you have more money and are able to get that much needed carpet change for the apartment. You stay and watch as they work and when Alex comes home from work, you greet him with a smile, showing him the new carpet. He smiles, says that the colour is nice. That is all you will get out of him that day. 

Several months pass and you notice a few changes in your body. Your breasts are swollen and so is your stomach, and you have not had your period in a while. It is enough to grow concerned, and Alex takes you to the doctor one sunny friday afternoon when he is let off early from work. The doctor is certain that you are pregnant, to which both you and Alex cheer and meet in a sloppy hug in the doctor’s office. To this day, you have never seen him looking so happy or handsome. After this point, it all seems to deteriorate. 

It starts with his nightmares coming back. They take the form of you dying, your baby dying, and something else that he refuses to talk about. Alex has always been mysterious, but he has never held mysteries from you in this way, not before the war. You know that he is still damaged from it, but something tells you that the war is not the only thing consuming him whole. Something tells you that he does not want you to ever find out what it might be. 

The second thing that happens is he starts sending letters. Once a week, at least, and it does not concern you to begin with, as he says they are for his parents. In fact, you think of it as a good thing. A man keeping contact with his family is a good man, somebody who is sure to be there for you and your baby in the future, and you are proud. You are so proud until the day you find an unsent letter and read the address, only to find out that he is definitely not sending the letters to home. They are addressed to Thomas in London, from Alexander in Manchester. It stings, the fact that he hides it from you. Whoever this Thomas may be, you feel that Alex should be able to tell you about him. Even if he belongs to a hard past that Alex would rather forget, because you are his wife and you would do anything to keep him happy, safe and warm. 

You pretend as if you have not seen the letter, and see Alex slipping it into his pocket the next morning when he leaves for work. You give him a kiss goodbye and he sends you a smile before descending down the stairs and out on the rainy streets. You watch him from your kitchen window as you see him make his way down to the post office, before turning around and heading for work. Even though it is nothing to be concerned about, you can not help but feel somewhat nauseated. Call it gut feeling, but you know that there is something Alex is not telling you, and it is making you uneasy. A hand on your stomach and cup of coffee in hand, you feel your baby kick. 

A few days later you find a letter on your doorstep. The two of you rarely received letters, so it was quite a surprise to find this letter lying there, seemingly out of place, before you pick it up and see the sender. It is Thomas from London, the man your Alex has sent at least one letter to, and you know you are not supposed to look. You know that, and yet your hands seem to pry the letter open without you willing them to, acting out of your control. Spitting a curse at yourself for even doing this, you close your eyes before pulling the letter out of the envelope and sitting down at the kitchen table to read it.

Dear Alex,

I have received all your letters. I must deeply apologise for not attending your wedding, but I find that having things left unsaid is easier than saying things that can not be taken back. Apart from that, I wish you the best of luck in your marriage. She sounds like a wonderful girl and from what I collected in our time together, she is somebody you truly treasure. 

Apart from that, I must confess that I have not ceased to think of you and the time we shared either. It was a wonderful time and a memory I have come to treasure. But things do pass and that is something we both have to come to terms with. I therefore reject your offer but hope to hear from you again. 

Your Tommy

It means nothing, you think. Alex had contacted a person he had gotten acquainted with at war, offering to take them out for a pint, and the person had refused. It was nothing out of the ordinary, except that it was. Alex had refused to see other people he had met during the war, claiming they brought back memories of pain, but judging from this letter the memories are nothing but bright. Describing war as ‘a wonderful time’ is not something a normal person does. As far as you know, however, there has not been anybody that he met after he was discharged. 

Reality only hits you when you look down at the letter again and flutter in your stomach. A kick. Your hand remains on the bump, trying to feel if the baby might kick again, but it does not happen and you are reminded of what is right in front of you. You curse to yourself and look for an envelope to write your own address on, to then put the already read letter into, and act as if you never even thought of opening it. It works, and when Alex comes home, you hold it up to him as you greet him with a kiss.

“There is a letter for you,” you say and see as his eyes light up, like a spark that you have not seen for years. He grabs the letter.

“Thanks,” he says and his eyes are fixated on the letter as he enters the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. That means that you are left alone in the silence of the small room and left alone in the silence to hear Alex crying in the quietest way possible, the quietest way he has ever since he came back. In that moment, you wonder why he even came back for you at all.

Weeks pass and letters keep being sent, until one day Alex corners you at dinner. He is sweet and lovely in the way he kisses you, the way he talks you down, the way he asks if it would be okay if he takes a trip down to London over the weekend. You agree.

The loneliness of the apartment feels almost overbearing when Alex leaves after putting a quick kiss on your cheek and another on your ever growing baby bump. It is friday and normally you would be thrilled, because Alex would be home and you two would have a nice dinner followed by a stroll outside, just enjoying each other’s presence, but that is not what will happen. You think that it might never be the same as it was.

When Alex comes back, he is colder than ever before to you. Spending more and more time at work and less time at home seems to be his new routine, and the old routine of love and comfort seems to have gone out the window. The hard part is that you do not even know what you are so upset about. It is completely normal to grow distant, to reach out to an old friend and to be preoccupied with work. Your tummy has grown and the baby kicks more than what you presume a normal baby does, but it does not worry you. It is already so much like its father.

Alex wakes up kicking and screaming and when he calms into a cold sweated slumber, there is a name on his lips that he keeps repeating. Tommy. An iron fist has gripped your heart, cold and unforgiving, squeezing until you can barely breathe. When you get out of bed, there is no protest on Alex’s side, as he barely notices, turning to his side and exposing his bare back to you. One part of you wants to go and put your hand on it, assure him that you are there. The other side of you knows that it would not comfort him. That is why you go out to the office, sit at the desk and begin rummaging through the files. If Alex was not going to tell you, then you would find out for yourself why Tommy seemed to have left such a horrible mark on your beautiful husband.

What you find is letters. Tommy has not sent nearly as many as Alex has, that is clear, but they are all stacked into a neat drawer. It looks as if Alex had been very careful with not damaging them. You tell yourself that it is wrong, incredibly wrong to look at them, but there is some evil entity egging you on and you simply can not refuse it. You open letter after letter, searching for clues of any kind, but all you find is the same messages as the one you had read without permission previously. Vague declarations of love, vague declarations of regret, but most of all an appeal to keep it all under control. You do not know what that means, but the strange gut feeling you have had for the past few months is back. 

The morning is quiet as Alex goes to work and you sit by the table, not having slept since reading the letters. Sleeping is something reserved for calm times and for those who deserve it and at the moment, you feel that neither of you do. Your husband’s secret follows him around everywhere he goes. There is an edge getting closer and you feel that both of you might be pushed off at any moment.

The doorbell rings. Through the peephole you can see a man, not much younger than yourself with parted dark hair looking at the door. With the slightest bit of hesitation, you open the door. 

“Hello, can I help you?” you say. The man stretches out his hand for you to shake.

“I’m Thomas,” he says. You take his hand, force down a deep gulp and feel something heavy and explosive light within you. “I am here for Alex.”

“Alex is at work,” you say coldly, but try your best to brush that off, now forcing a smile onto your face. “Would you like to come in?”

“No, it’s alright, I-”

“Don’t be silly, come inside,” you say. “I’ll make you a cuppa.”

Tommy appears awkward as he looks at the pictures on the wall. Alex in his military uniform, you and Alex sitting by the river as teenagers and the two of you on your wedding day. Truly speaking, you feel as awkward as he looks, but you do your best not to show it while you make him his cup of tea, setting it on the table in front of him. You ask where he knows Alex from, and he answers that they met during the evacuation at Dunkirk and were discharged at the same time. You nod, forcing back that feigned smile as you get a cup for yourself. It is horrible and awkward, but there is no way you are letting him go at this moment. 

When Alex returns, you feel that you are done trying to pry information out of this timid man. Alex almost looks angry for a moment, but you can see so clearly the look in his eyes when he sees Tommy. A melancholy longing, deep and desperate. It reminds you of when you and Alex first met, but this is so different in so many ways. Alex invites Tommy to stay the night, clarifying that they had a spare bedroom that was used mainly as an office but would soon be turned into a nursery. A cold hand on your stomach. Alex looks at you for only a second before he looks at Tommy again. There is a strange look in Tommy’s eyes when he sees Alex’s hand on your baby bump. You put up a facade, assuring Tommy that it is completely fine, and only then does he agree to stay. 

They go out to a pub in the evening while you stay home and clean up after dinner. It had surely been a strange encounter, but you can not tell why you felt so uneasy about the situation or why you are thinking up strange scenarios in your head about what they might be doing at the pub. At least there are people around at the pub.

The bed is warm and welcoming as you enter it at 11PM. There is no use staying up waiting for them any longer, and if anything, Alex is the one who always refuses to be late for work in the morning. You made the guest bed up for Tommy earlier. It is strange how he invites a friend over, yet you are the one to take care of everything. 

When they come home, you pretend not to hear their drunken laughter through the crack in your bedroom door. Through it, you can see light streaming in and the men’s bodies stumbling around. You pretend to not hear when they make obnoxious jokes with one another. You pretend not to hear the sounds of two mouths coming together, meeting in a deep kiss right outside your bedroom. You pretend not to see the look in Alex’s eyes when his hands caress every part of Tommy’s body the way they used to caress yours. You pretend not to notice Alex enter your bedroom, stripping his clothes off and lying down behind you, hard-on pressing against your back. You pretend not to notice when he exits again, goes to a different bedroom, the one in which your child would be sleeping in a few months, and disappears for the night. Lastly, you pretend that you do not hear the moans coming from the room, the desperate pleas for harder, be quiet, don’t wake her up.

When Tommy leaves again, you pretend that everything is as usual. Alex pretends too. You realise that he has been pretending for a long time. You realise that the softness he had before the war is never to return, but you also know that there is not way out. From this moment onward, the only thing the two of you can do is pretend.

That is what you do. Alex visits London once a month. Your baby girl is born and Alex has never seemed as happy, until the moment you see that Tommy shows up on your doorstep the next day. He has rented a room at the hostel down the street, knowing that the new family needs some privacy, but that does not stop Alex from leaving home as soon as Tommy does. In your loneliness, you rock your new baby girl, holding on to her tightly. She looks just like him.

Now, there are two options. One is to expose the truth to the cost of everything. Alex would lose his job, you would lose your husband and your baby girl would lose her father. The other option is to keep pretending and live as happy a life as you can without the love you so crave.

What do you choose?

**Author's Note:**

> 40s homophobia and learning to live with it... Very much inspired by my great grandparents. Sad love and a bunch of taboos.


End file.
